


hard to be you

by princegrantaire



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clowns, Demonic Possession, Established Relationship, Husbands, M/M, Magic, Paranormal, Possession, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 22:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13774023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princegrantaire/pseuds/princegrantaire
Summary: “We’re fine,” he repeats. Then, against all reason, Bruce opens his mouth again. “J. thinks he’s possessed.”(Joker might be possessed. Bruce tries to live with it.)





	hard to be you

**Author's Note:**

> major shout out to [DracoMaleficium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoMaleficium) for helping me come up with this concept in the first place, putting up with my endless worries and proofreading! thank you so much!

It starts when Bruce rolls over in bed and reaches out only to be met with empty space. The lack of uncommonly sharp elbows stabbing any part of him should have been a dead giveaway but Bruce is a heavy sleeper every now and again. Joker’s missing.

Bruce mumbles something and considers going right back to sleep, at least until those finely honed instincts of so many years kick in. He sits up immediately as he registers what sounds like soft sobs. That _can’t_ be right.

A cursory glance around the room reveals Joker’s silhouette standing in front of the vanity, _crying_ , though Bruce can’t reconcile that image with anything he’s ever known about Joker.

Getting up isn’t a complicated affair and he reaches Joker in exactly four steps, confused rather than cautious. It’s then that it becomes apparent Joker is staring with empty eyes at the mirror, not a flicker of emotion across his face. The sobs _are_ coming from him all the same.

“Joker?” Bruce tries, voice rough from sleep. He’s long stopped noticing just how eerie Joker looks bathed in moonlight. It’s jarring now -- misadventures across Gotham’s rooftops superimposed on a benign present.

Just like that all sounds cease instantly, Bruce nearly holds his breath in the ensuing deafening silence. Finally, Joker giggles with what might pass for excitement and leans towards the vanity.

“He doesn’t like you,” Joker whispers and Bruce’s blood runs cold. It’s only a moment until he remembers who he’s dealing with here but, if nothing else, it’s a ludicrously long moment.

“Joker?” Bruce repeats, concerned.

“Hmm?” Joker simply blinks at him, blearily from sleep, as if he hasn’t spent however long in front of the vanity. Bruce finds himself with an armful of clown and decides confusion can only get him so far. He wants to know with a sort of alarming desperation who exactly _he_ doesn’t like.

Still, Bruce is _exhausted_ and the detective in him is almost willing to neglect a complete lack of sleepwalking history on Joker’s part. It’s nothing anyway, that much seems clear.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Bruce says, instead of letting loose any of the pesky questions on the tip of his tongue.

Joker yawns, rubbing at his eyes, and simply nods. “Why’d you wake me anyway?”

Bruce can’t quite help smiling at that.

\---

Sleepwalking becomes a permanent fixture of their nighttime routine for a few weeks and Bruce gets significantly less fond each time. He doesn’t mind helping Joker back to bed at 3 AM every night but sleeping is a rare commodity for either of them to begin with.

It only becomes a problem when the screaming starts.  _That_ isn’t part of the routine so far. Joker’s still in bed but he’s thrashing and screaming his lungs out. Bruce wraps his arms around him without thinking, so set on comforting that he only belatedly notices there are words sprinkled between those bursts of agony.

“What? Who’s coming?” Bruce manages to get out, pulling Joker closer until he stops shaking all over. It’s an unnerving sight, hardly aided by the familiar body in his arms.

Joker’s panting but clearly well on his way to dozing off again, as if these impromptu scares don’t even phase him any more. Bruce wonders, vaguely, if the kids or Alfred heard anything.

“J.? Who’s coming?” Bruce prompts. He’s too awake already, reeling from the possibilities. Joker’s own brand of torments in the night has never been quite this worrying.

“She’s coming for us,” Joker says, sleep-addled and ever helpful. He proceeds to nuzzle against Bruce, pressing a few stray kisses on Bruce’s jaw, soft like he so rarely is during the day.

“Who--”

Bruce never does get to finish what he might have said as Joker simply settles down and goes right back to sleep.

He tries to resign himself to the distinct impression that whatever this is, it only seems to be getting worse. Batman isn’t going to be too fun to deal with tonight.

\---

The foyer is dark but so is the rest of the house. Bruce steps inside with some trepidation, he’s not used to coming through the front door at this hour. A retirement party at Wayne Enterprises had ran late, the kind of thing Bruce couldn’t miss, not when the boys are more than capable of handling patrol.

Alfred has reassured him -- over and over, through texts and calls alike -- that it’s been a quiet night. They usually are, these days. He’s not heard anything from Joker though, whose preference for a night in already accounts for half of this unease.

Wayne Manor is no place to bring your fears. The tall, looming shadows as Bruce makes his way into the bedroom almost make him reconsider not turning on any of the lights.

He stops in the doorway. The bedroom is dark, curtains drawn tight, but he can still recognise Joker sitting up in bed. His back is perfectly straight, stiff as if he’s been frozen there.

Bruce’s hand hovers over the lamp on the bedside table -- something beyond habit, he can see well enough in the dark. It’s foreboding in a way Bruce can’t quite place. If it’s what Bruce thinks it is then he’s grateful for the haze of sleep that had dulled just how ominous Joker manages to be.

He approaches, careful like _before_. Joker jumps when Bruce’s hand weighs heavy on his shoulder. He must have zoned out. Everything’s _fine_. Bruce allows himself a smile--

It’s not over yet. Joker looks up at him and Bruce himself has to take a step back.

“Baby, you’re back,” Joker breathes out. He looks like a _clown_. The colours aren’t distinct enough in the nonexistent light but something in Bruce’s chest tightens.

Bruce nods and turns on the lamp anyway, he needs to be sure. Joker’s face is all soft pinks; eyeshadow and blush included, twin spirals painted on his cheeks. It all matches the lipstick heart carefully drawn on his lips, stark against bleached skin. It’s _concerning_.

There’s a limited number of things Joker is constant about, his makeup routine is one of them. Bruce sees it every morning, the kind of focus Joker doesn’t spare for anything else.

“How are you feeling?” He doesn’t quite recognise his own voice.

Joker frowns, suspicious, and sits up. He’s noticed all the staring then.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

He pushes past Bruce and into the en-suite bathroom without waiting for an answer. Joker’s startled squeak shocks Bruce out of his confusion. He finds Joker tracing the contours of his own sharp features in the mirror.

Something tells Bruce he’s just become the victim of some typically unfunny prank. Joker’s not laughing though, looking both fascinated and terrified.

“What, _you_ didn’t do that?” he asks. All that concern is quickly turning into lack of patience.

Joker scoffs and turns to Bruce, gesturing wildly to his face. “Does it _look_ like the kinda thing I’d do, Mr. World’s Greatest Detective?”

Bruce wants to say _yes_ . The list of things Joker might, will or seems likely to do is endless and constantly expanding. He shakes his head anyway. Joker _does_ have a point, radical changes of this sort aren’t exactly his style.

“Do you have any other explanation?” Bruce rests his chin on Joker’s shoulder, blinking at the bathroom mirror.

“Ghosts?” Joker suggests, remarkably absent of any traces of amusement.

“Ghosts,” Bruce repeats, incredulous. “You think my house is haunted?”

“ _Our_ house, dear.”

\---

Bruce is having a nice breakfast for once, not even the Gotham Gazette is trying to ruin his morning. The mysterious string of robberies from the past few issues had been effectively stopped last night and Bruce can rest easy in the knowledge that the city doesn’t need him in any immediate capacity.

Besides the makeup mishap, which had been quickly solved, Joker had actually slept through the night. That might be the only reason Bruce tries not to groan when a stack of papers is unceremoniously shoved in his face.

“From the _Spiritual Research Foundation_ ,” Tim says, looking small next to Joker’s gaunt tallness.

“Good morning to you too,” Bruce grumbles and actually goes as far as to glance at the first document. It’s a chart depicting the root cause of sleepwalking, 95% of which is apparently spiritual. This time Bruce _does_ groan.

Tim and Joker aren’t the most unlikely team-up out there but Bruce suspects Joker’s first choice is usually Dick. He takes a sip of coffee, contemplative, and glances at Damian, who is busy stabbing at his pancakes.

“Exactly what are you implying?” Bruce asks when it becomes apparent Joker and Tim aren’t going to stop staring at him expectantly any time soon.

“Well,” Joker starts, snaking an arm around Tim. “Timmy here did some research and it turns out I’m haunted--”

“Possessed,” Tim clarifies. It sounds a little bit like they’ve practised this.

“Yes, that, _possessed_ ,” Joker agrees. “See, all the signs point to it. The sleepwalking? Lack of appetite? Sudden resemblance to the undead?”

Tim nods as Joker goes through his checklist and Bruce doesn’t quite know how to point out the last two are simply what Joker’s always been like. He needs to find out how Tim is being bribed and double it.

“And there’s also the weird clown figurine in your bedroom,” Tim adds. Bruce looks up from the newspaper at that.

“When were you in our--” Bruce trails off, frowning. There’s more to unpack here. “What weird clown figurine?”

As far as Bruce knows there’s nothing resembling that in the whole manor. He’s still frowning as Joker plops down in his lap and Tim goes off to get himself some breakfast.

“Come on, darling, you know what Timmy’s on about. That clown thing I got a few weeks back,” Joker says, poking at Bruce’s cheek with a bony finger several times. Bruce shakes his head and carefully extracts his cup of coffee from Joker’s hands.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bruce confesses. “Show me?”

Joker is all too eager to do exactly that and he untangles himself from Bruce in record time, ruffling Damian’s hair on his way out. Damian _growls_ but Bruce’s priorities lie elsewhere for once.

There is, in fact, a clown figurine smiling smugly up at Bruce from his pillow in the bedroom. He’s sufficiently sure it hadn’t been there at any point the night before, let alone a few weeks ago, but that’s not what gives him pause. It has the exact same makeup that had plagued Joker during last night’s misadventure.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Bruce says. It’s true despite Joker’s remarkably scandalized expression. He’s even clutching his chest.

“Don’t remember when I dug her up in the yard and you said I could keep her?” Joker flutters his lashes innocently, like he hasn’t just made up that entire scenario.

Bruce can feel a headache coming on, possibly unrelated to the lapse in memory Joker is hinting at.

“And you think that’s what’s... _possessing_ you?” Bruce asks anyway because the past five years have clearly chipped away at his common sense.

“Yeah.”

The clown _is_ bizarre, he’ll give Joker that much. They’ve never actually addressed the sleepwalking before though and Bruce wants to take this as some attempt at progress. He sighs, picking up the figurine.

Joker wraps his arms around Bruce’s waist and peers carefully at the clown. “You should get rid of it,” he suggests. “Doesn’t it look kinda knowing?”

“Sure,” Bruce agrees, easy. He knows how to pick his battles these days. Besides, it can’t be all bad if it makes Joker beam at him.

\---

Bruce throws away the clown figurine a grand total of fifteen times before he has to go out as Batman and another two when he comes back. By the time he’s ready to call it a day, he resigns himself to just locking the clown in one of the guest rooms they don’t use all that often.

The first few times the figurine reappeared must have been a misunderstanding, one of those rare matters of miscommunication with Alfred or something along those lines. Bruce can’t actually find anything close to a satisfying explanation for the rest.

As far as Bruce knows, Joker and Tim have been knee-deep in _research_ the whole day. He’s still got half a mind to blame Joker.

They’ll talk about it in the morning. As much as Bruce is both curious and skeptical by nature, he’s also not willing to let a clown toy get in the way of a good night’s sleep. That’s been quickly elevated to his sole mission lately.

Bruce is, predictably, awaken by a rhythmic thumping a mere two hours later. It takes him a good minute and a half to realise Joker’s side of the bed is empty again and Bruce sits up, eyes adjusting to the darkness just in time to notice that Joker is repeatedly hitting his head against the door.

Joker’s survived a lot worse than a few inevitable bruises but it’s still concern that drives Bruce to spring up to his feet to stop Joker before he can actually hurt himself. He almost regrets it once he gets a good look at Joker, whose eyes are wide open and rolled all the way back, only the whites left visible.

Bruce draws in a sharp breath and looks at the door then at Joker’s eerie visage and back again before he takes a split-second decision. He’s not sure what compels him to open the door -- maybe some deep-seated desire to finally see this through.

Just like that Joker’s walking out, movements stiff and disjointed, as if held up by invisible strings. Bruce tries not to shudder as he follows, this is proving to be far more than foreboding.

He’s only wearing briefs, Joker’s got on even less than that. It’s too late to turn back now but Bruce desperately hopes no one ventures out to investigate.

The manor’s corridors are winding and deathly silent, both qualities Bruce has noticed before but comes to despise in the span of the few moments it takes Joker to stop in front of a certain room. The very same room the clown figurine is locked in.

There’s no way Joker could have known that’s where Bruce put the clown. As suspicious as it’s starting to sound now, he was already in bed when Bruce had finally made it home. He’d chalked it up to the general lack of sleep from the past weeks but Bruce is more than aware that’s rarely the case with Joker.

“She’s coming for us,” Joker says in a voice too gruff to be his own as he pitches forward and resolutely bangs his forehead against the door. He does it again, hard, before Bruce has time to react.

The third attempt is thankfully averted as Bruce tries to shake Joker awake, heart caught in his throat. There’s some unbearable _wrongness_ about this, Joker has been many things but never not himself.

Joker gasps as he comes to, blinking once, twice before that familiar acid green finally returns. Blunt nails dig into Bruce’s arm as he tries to hold himself up, coughing up something that looks too dark to be blood all over the two of them.

Whatever doubts Bruce might have had about the reality of the situation, they’re quickly going down the drain.

“Bruce,” Joker rasps, shaky. He’s never sounded this _scared_ before.

“I’m here,” Bruce promises as he gently guides Joker back to their room and hopefully into the shower.

He’s not sure he wants to ask just how much Joker remembers.

\---

Monitor duty isn’t, as a rule, the height of entertainment but it’s not exactly unpleasant either. This _is_ , however, the first time Bruce has used it to get away from home. He’s got the cowl off and is reclining in the computer chair, dangerously close to dozing off.

Bruce is struck in that moment with the acute knowledge that he’s gotten far too comfortable around Clark. Still, it’s hardly anyone’s fault that in the past two weeks the sleepwalking has only intensified and he can’t actually remember getting more than an hour of sleep in the meantime.

When Bruce opens his eyes again -- he’s barely realised he closed them in the first place -- Clark is quite literally hovering above him. They both pull back, startled, before Bruce gives a questioning look that’s not quite the Bat’s trademark glare.

“How...How are things with you and Joker?” Clark asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Fine.”

Bruce isn’t lying, he doubts he would even if he had the opportunity. They _are_ fine, there’s nothing strained between him and Joker. If anything, Bruce’s inherent need to take care of those he loves has only pushed them closer and Joker’s all over him until darkness falls and the inevitable happens.

“You look tired,” Clark remarks, like he’s hoping Bruce might actually open up.

Bruce scoffs and tugs the cowl back on. He yawns despite himself, sitting up a little straighter just in case it helps.

“We’re fine,” he repeats. Then, against all reason, Bruce opens his mouth again. “J. thinks he’s _possessed_.” The word feels heavy and awkward on his tongue. The immediate rush of embarrassment is proof enough he needs to cut all contact with Clark after this.

“Oh.”

Clark, endlessly compassionate, puts a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. The thought that his best friend might be just as far gone as his possibly possessed husband doesn’t seem to occur to him. Bruce doesn’t know if he should be grateful.

“I’ve read about stuff like that,” Clark says, keeping a respectable distance for once. “There was this one case in Long Island, I think, where a man claiming to be possessed murdered his whole fa--”

Clark nearly chokes in the sudden attempt to stop talking. Bruce, absurdly enough, wants to laugh. He’s clearly spent too much time with Joker.

“Not that anything like that would happen to _you_ , obviously,” Clark adds, hurried. Bruce wonders whether Clark thinks he still keeps kryptonite in his belt. “Just, well, maybe you should call someone.”

Bruce stares at Clark. The silence stretches on endlessly.

“Call someone,” Bruce finally echoes, flatly.

“Yeah.” Clark nods. “Zatanna might help?”

“Right.”

Bruce’s phone buzzes and he tries not to look too eager for a change of subject. It’s an entirely inappropriate picture from Joker, one that makes Bruce bite back a smile.

“If he really is possessed, Zatanna would know,” Clark continues, heedless of the distraction.

Away from the urgency of it all, up here in the watchtower, Bruce can’t quite see the necessity of calling someone. Joker is having trouble sleeping. That should be the extent of it.

“I’ll think about it,” Bruce agrees.

\---

It’s been a rough night -- the sort of night Bruce recalls less than fondly from the days when some of the bigger names in Gotham were still active. Dawn is already breaking when he gets home, bone-tired and tetchy.

Bruce takes his time as he walks through the manor. He made the boys take off early and regrets that only slightly, a bruised rib is hardly the worst thing he’s dealt with.

That much remains true even as he makes it into the bedroom and finds Joker perched on the windowsill, swinging from side to side in tune with some unheard song.

A month ago it could have been one of Joker’s few entirely harmless quirks. Sometimes he waits for Bruce, sometimes he’s up for days for no real reason. It’s never been quite as concerning as this new normal.

“Jo--” Bruce is cut off by a sudden screech from Joker, who topples forward onto the wrong side of this equation then stops himself with startling accuracy.

Bruce is by his side in an instant, trying to pry him away from the window. Joker is holding on with all the strength his wiry frame is capable of and another anguished scream nearly makes Bruce let go.

“Joker,” Bruce tries again. It’s Batman’s voice ringing in his ears.

At that Joker starts humming something that sounds suspiciously like a nursery rhyme, one Bruce can’t name off the top of his head but unsettling all the same.

As Bruce attempts to pull him back again, he gets a glimpse of Joker’s sharp face, tired as always but that’s not what catches Bruce’s attention. Joker’s eyes are rolled back yet again and there’s a fresh scratch on his cheek, jarringly red against that deathly pallor.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” Joker bellows, once more in that voice that’s not quite his own nor anyone else’s. For one terrifying moment, Bruce steps back -- shock, maybe, or a budding sense of stupidity.

Joker stands up on the windowsill with a series of jerky movements, shaking uncontrollably even as his skinny limbs seem to move of their own accord. He takes one step forward, intent on walking this imaginary plank.

“Get away from him or I make him jump.” The whisper, muttered rapidly with the same odd stops and starts as Joker’s body, comes as soon as Bruce risks approaching again.

There has to be another solution. Something’s nagging at Bruce, a way to stop this that doesn’t involve catching Joker as he plummets from a third floor window. He looks around the room, heart racing, sick with the knowledge that he’s out of his depth here.

The clown. Bruce spots its smug little face on the bedside table, observing the proceedings with dead eyes. The spike of rage goades him on and with one last glance in Joker’s direction, Bruce reaches for the clown.

Joker turns around abruptly, as if provoked by the disruption. He grins at Bruce -- cold and menacing -- and drags his fingers down his own face, nails digging in and tearing at the skin with the force of it.

“THIS IS MY HOUSE!” the thing that’s not quite Joker shouts. Another relentless scratch leaves blood welling up just beneath his right eye.

Bruce swallows the lump in his throat and smashes the clown figurine against the wall. He barely makes it in time as Joker shudders all over and falls backwards.

In the mad scramble to save Joker, Bruce manages to grab his bony wrist and pull him back into the room. It’s not the first time the fact that Joker weighs next to nothing has come in handy. Bruce slides down against the wall, Joker cradled in his arms, and for the first time since he’s gotten home, simply lets himself _be_.

They’ve made it.

Clark’s suggestion from a week ago comes to mind and Bruce hates just how necessary it seems now. Joker’s possessed. He _has_ to be.

“Baby, you okay?” Joker asks, wiggling around until he can get a good look at Bruce. There’s still blood smeared around his face, accompanied by the angry-looking scratches.

Bruce nods, not trusting himself to speak, and pulls Joker into a longing kiss.

He could have lost him. He could have lost Joker.

They sit there for a long moment, letting the dim morning light wash over them. Bruce breathes in and out a few times, nosing at Joker’s hair.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I--” Bruce sighs and tries to get his thoughts in order. Easier said than done. “Clark thinks we should call Zatanna,” he finally says. Something passes over Joker’s features. If Bruce didn’t know better, he’d say it’s a hint of annoyance.  


“Does he now?” Joker sits up like it’s nothing and extends a hand to Bruce, a bruise already forming around his wrist. “And what do _you_ think?”

Bruce settles on, “I think we should talk about it in the morning.”

“It _is_ morning.”

\---

They don’t end up talking about it. They take a shower and Bruce tells Joker all about patrol and life seems to go on unhindered. Bruce still doesn’t understand though. It’s only a few hours later that he leaves Joker to whatever video Dick is showing him on his phone and stops in front of one specific guest room.

Bruce tries the door and is surprised to find it still locked. He thinks of the clown smashed to pieces on the hardwood floor of the bedroom and lets curiosity get the better of him. As he steps over the threshold, Bruce braces himself for the worst.

The clown figurine is on the mantelpiece, right where he’d left it, perfectly intact and detestable as ever. Some part of Bruce might have already known that. He’s not even sure what he’d expected.

The door slams shut in his face the moment he turns around. He doesn’t even flinch. Bruce has had just about enough of ghostly hijinks. He waits a full minute, turns the knob and simply steps outside, phone in hand.

“J.?” Bruce calls out, determined. “We’re getting Zatanna.”

\---

“You should have called John,” is the first thing Zatanna says once she materialises down in the cave.

Joker, who’d _insisted_ on cuffing himself to a chair “just in case”, tries to wave at her. He’s grinning ear to ear but it’s the kind of excitement that’s reserved solely for visits from league members. Clark’s somewhere around too, which really only adds to it.

“Why?” Bruce asks just as Joker launches into a speech about how much he misses _Johnny-boy_.

“You know John Constantine?” Zatanna turns to look at Joker, successfully bypassing Bruce’s question.

Bruce knows this story, he’d caught the tail end of it in person and let Joker fill in the gaps over the years. It’s not one he cares to hear again, not when it’s nearly midnight and he’s actually gone as far as bringing the figurine to the cave.

“He won me in a card game once,” Joker says, simply, and Zatanna’s known Constantine for long enough not to question that any further.

Zatanna simply looks at Joker before she turns to Bruce, gesturing towards a more secluded corner. Maybe she’s heard his question after all.

“John has the Keshanti Key _and_ he’s the expert in exorcisms here,” Zatanna whispers, quickly, like she knows the chance of Joker hearing is greater than average. “Are you even sure he’s really possessed?”

Bruce isn’t but he’s also spent half his life denying the existence of magic. He’s not sure what he believes anymore. He simply nods and walks back to where Joker looks like he’s trying to talk Clark into something.

“Ready?” Zatanna asks in what Bruce recognises as her stage voice, all that confidence at odds with the whispers from a moment ago.

“Not quite.” Joker looks meaningfully at Clark, who in turn looks at Bruce with what he promptly categorises as the deepest form of regret before he takes Joker’s free hand in his. “Sorry, baby, this is a job for the beefiest beefcake out there,” Joker tries to pacify him, making kissy faces at Bruce.

Bruce spares a glare for Clark before he pointedly kisses Joker and gives Zatanna the go-ahead.

It takes a little more than a second for a sigil to manifest underneath Joker, illuminating his features strangely, elongating shadows and adding some where there were none. He’s not moving yet but his hold on Clark tightens imperceptibly. Bruce simply stands next to Zatanna, firmly on his guard.

“ _Edisni seil tahw em wohs_!” Zatanna chants a few times as her hands glow the same colour as the sigil. Whatever she’s doing, it’s clearly directed at Joker.

It’s then that Joker starts thrashing around, held back by nothing but Clark’s grip on his hand and shoulder, even the cuffs don’t seem to have half a chance against the sudden violence in the lines of Joker’s body.

Bruce forces himself not to look away. It’s important that he understands just how very _real_ this is.

Zatanna stops soon enough and Joker slumps in the chair, caught in the middle of a breathless laughing fit. Bruce doesn’t quite know what he’s supposed to do here, he’s never been good at this part, certainly not when it’s not just the two of them. He turns to Zatanna, questioning.

“There _is_ something inside him,” Zatanna starts, unsettled. Bruce stares and waits. “Traces of different entities. The strongest one is--”

Joker wails, prolonged and painful. When Bruce turns back to look at him, his eyes have gone white again and the chair is shaking along with him. Clark’s let go of Joker, looking as concerned as Bruce feels.

Zatanna watches for a moment and shouts, “ _Mih etativel_!”

Two things happen at once. Joker, still handcuffed to the chair, starts floating towards the ceiling. At the same time, his eyes go back to normal. If nothing else, he looks _shocked_ and more than just a little annoyed.

“What’d you do that for?” Joker asks, remarkably calm for someone who was just in the throes of a possibly demonic possession.

“Nothing’s controlling you.” There’s a hint of challenge in Zatanna’s smile.

Both Bruce and Clark turn to her instantly. Joker, still floating and now upside down, crosses his arms. A bat screeches overhead.

“You just said there are traces of something in Joker,” Clark points out. Bruce doesn’t like where this is headed.

“And there are but he’s not possessed. Some sort of force is clinging to him and he’s been possessed in the past but I don’t believe that’s the case now,” Zatanna explains. Then, with a magician’s flourish, she points a finger at Joker and says, “ _Og mih tel_.”

Joker crashes down with a squeak, falling directly into Clark’s arms. The chair breaks as it falls. Bruce, for his part, feels a headache coming on. He still needs to _know_.

“The strong entity you mentioned. What is that?” Bruce tries as Clark puts Joker down.

“A ghost. I’m not sure what kind, it’s been gone for too long.”

“She,” Joker clarifies. “Grace. She helped me choose my earrings the other day.”

Bruce’s fist clenches unconsciously. Joker’s never worn earrings. He’s about to say that much when he sees Zatanna picking up the clown figurine. She frowns then spins around, grabbing Joker by the collar.

“Where did you get this?” Zatanna asks, slow, cold like Bruce’s seen her during interrogations. He almost doesn’t want to intervene.

“eBay?” Joker offers, confused.

Zatanna lets go and breathes out a weary sigh. “This is an artefact from the House of Mystery.” She adjusts her hat and adds, “I need to have a talk with a certain someone. Joker isn’t possessed, Bruce, but I’d suggest being careful anyway.”

“So you’re just leaving?” Joker asks, like he hasn’t been playing with Bruce’s mind for the past month. He’s not even looking at Zatanna as he speaks, he’s fiddling with the cuff on his wrist, now attached to nothing.

“I can still perform the exorcism?”

As soon as Joker shakes his head, Zatanna opens up a portal and steps through, taking the figurine with her.

Just like that it’s over.

\---

It takes about an hour for Clark to take off as well, though he only does it after stumbling through an apology to Bruce for no apparent reason. It’s just the two of them now.

Bruce hasn’t spoken a word to Joker since Zatanna left. He can’t quite believe it even as he feels the tidal wave of countless sleepless nights’ worth of exhaustion crash over him. Joker’s going through the drawers of the workbench, the handcuffs occasionally clanging whenever he hits something.

“What did you do with the key?”

Bruce doesn’t quite know why he’s the first to give in. Then again, he’s not all that sure whether Joker’s even aware they’re not talking.

“Oh, I swallowed it,” Joker says, like it’s obvious.

Bruce stops in front of the elevator to the manor and looks at Joker again. He’s got nothing to lose if he asks.

“Why did you do it?”

A prank. A goddamn prank. Bruce wonders why he even bothers anymore. It gets Joker to stop riffling through the drawers though. He’s actually got the gall to look conflicted as he turns to Bruce.

“Remember when Clark brought us those homemade cookies from his mother a few months ago?”

“Yes…?” It’s the last thing Bruce expected.

“Well, you ate the last one.”

Bruce quite literally facepalms. God, he’s _tired_. He gets into the elevator but doesn’t let the doors close just yet. “That’s it?” he prompts. The last vestiges of hope are quickly evaporating.

“I kind of missed _us_ ,” Joker admits, gentle. Bruce knows exactly what he means.

“Don’t bother coming to bed tonight.”

“I know.” And then Joker says, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Bruce murmurs just as the doors close.

\---

A full five months pass without incident. Everything falls into its usual haphazard order and Joker is even allowed back in the bedroom at some point. They are, for their standards at the very least, just _fine_.

Nevertheless it’s still Bruce’s first reaction to reach for Joker’s side of the bed when he starts hearing screams in the middle of the night. All _that_ accomplishes is an accidental punch to Joker’s stomach.

Joker splutters as he sits up but shares a worried look with Bruce as he comes to the very same conclusion. The screams are coming from Tim’s room.  


**Author's Note:**

> some notes:
> 
> \- title comes from a song of the same name by the charlatans  
> \- i don't have an exact timeline but bruce & joker have been married for about five years and have been together longer than that, everyone's reluctantly fine with it  
> \- the spiritual research foundation DOES in fact exist and i recommend checking out [their hilarious chart](https://www.spiritualresearchfoundation.org/spiritual-problems/sleep-disorders/sleep-walking/)  
> \- clark is referencing the amityville murders  
> \- you can read all about joker's adventures with john constantine in DracoMaleficium's unimaginably fantastically amazing fic [right here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13711800)  
> \- grace is a ghost girl that possesses joker in legends of the dark knight #19 - #21  
> \- the clown figurine is supposed to be [the small](https://i.imgflip.com/2203pg.jpg) [but knowing clown](http://dracze.tumblr.com/post/170767652323/how-long-before-a-joker-one-pops-up#notes)
> 
> let me know if you enjoyed reading! [find me on tumblr!](http://ufonaut.tumblr.com/)


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